The color of poetry.ppt jessicasdigitalporfolio.ppt
ABOUT ME:
my name is Jessica
& i am a writer.
I'd like to say that i have a personal writing style.
I put alot of emotion and my own feelings into all my pieces.
I would like me and my readers to connect as much as possible because I want to create a type of understanding between us.
i really hope people enjoy the things that I write. Some of my writing is sad, emotional, descriptive, or it can be colorful.. but all of it is ME.
I'm just a girl with a voice& i want to be heard.
001 Jessica,
caring, daring, artistic, optimistic
child of a hardworking man and an outspoken mother
fan of creativity, fashion, the things that make life fun
who feels dedicated, poetic and hopeful
who needs love, friendship, and character
who fears abandonment, pain and sorrow
who likes to make friends, shop, and bake
who would like to see success in her life, happiness, and the rest of the world
resident of my imagination, Thomas
002 BOOTS WERE MADE FOR THE RAIN
She is young. Not the type of young that everyone claims to be. She is in all actuallity, young. The type of youth in which innocence is still pure. She wakes up from her nap, yawning and rubbing her big, vibrant, skyblue eyes. She looks out the window and sees the light grayness of the sky. The rain is lightly falling in a slight drizzle. Birds are hiding away beneath the sturdy branches of the trees, yet they are still singing. SO she smiles and puts on her new, black, rubber rainboots, slips on her yellow rain coat and runs, merrily, outside. It is childlike, but it is fun. Gallantly she runs in the rain, hopping and sprinting and twirling around. The rain is cool on her babyface and it dampens her long, wet hair. The puddles are fresh as she jumps into them. It is only noon. Her day has just begun.
003 STILETTOS, A RUNWAY, & A NERVOUS WRECK
Fear was my shadow, haunting me like a ghost in the woods. I was nervous. I looked into the mirror at myself, trying to gather myself. I was a wreck. My hands were trembling, my knees were shaking. What if I tripped onthe runway? This is my first show. I have to pull it together. I took a deep breath & combed my long, dark hair. Although the crowd was loud and distracting, I blocked it out hearing almost nothing but the director calling my name. My mind became an empty space. I was up. So I took yet another deep, invigorating breath and stepped out onto the runway. My stilettos were as black as a moonless night, and with red soles they stalked the runway as I strutted my avant-garde look. Suddenly, the nervousness disappeared and I became fierce; I was proud.
004 Hip-Hop Attraction (personal essay / memoir) It started in the midst of December. Winter was cold and harsh this year; not just in a literal type of way. Its cold bitterness overwhelmed me and planted frost bite on my heart. I had just got out of a dire breakup. In a matter of days, fifteen months worth of struggling and fighting to hold onto a belligerent relationship was over. And just when I thought it was also the end of me, I was proven wrong. Life showed me just how clumsy of a lover I really am. (I smirk). I descend so easily into love. It’s like pie... so simple. (And believe me when I say the feeling of a new crush is just as tasteful and delightful as pie too!) We’re so young it’s almost foolish, but I guess in today’s society its okay. I’m glad it is simple, and I’m glad he makes it so easy to be nothing but myself. It’s so effortless to impress him. This “new guy” (I grin with egotism).I can’t help but to feel extraordinary. When I met him, the first thing I noticed, like I do with all guys, were those beautiful eyes. I thought to myself, laughing, I would definitely have no problem staring into those all day! They were deep gray, and endless like a sea of enchantment, and when he smiled it was like something struck me. His charm was a shock of lightning to my emotions. Then everything fell into place. My feelings lined up as if they were soldiers in a skilled army. Moment by moment he took my breath away with every little thing he did. The way he dresses; the way he walked; even the way he talked; and definitely the way he looked at me. He’s like a figure out of a 90s hip-hop movie; not the bad boy, but the one every girl wanted to be with; not just because he was cute, but because he had his life planned out. He is smart. He knows what he wants and what he wants to do. I find that incredibly appealing. He’s athletic and very physically alluring. He has a beautiful blanket of brown skin and once again those eyes… (Big smile). He wears his jeans just right; not like a thug with them almost to the point of falling off his body. His swag is on point. The way he carries himself is perfect. He’s a gentleman... with an ego. (I laugh). Sometimes he’ll clean up with a button-down shirt and dress pants looking all professional. Trust me, it’s really cute! But other times he’s laid back and smooth like calm breezes in autumn with his street-style shirt and a fitted. Those boys and their fitted hats; they get to me.
However, he’s not just a boy. He’s that one boy that renders me speechless in every conversation because the way he speaks is like words straight out of a poem book. His words are poetry, poetry that flows through the blood in his veins and leisurely streams from his ever-so-supple lips. He’s smooth with his speech and it’s fascinating. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever run out of sweet words to say. He hasn’t proven me wrong yet.
He’s that kind of guy that has eyes that can read me, even when he can’t see me. He can hear it in my voice. It’s almost magical. When he looks at me I melt. Happiness is an endless river flowing through my body when I’m with him. I don’t want this feeling to go away. Young, but this is one of the many highlights of life. I’m not fighting for this. It’s not a struggle. It’s a gentle breeze and I’m floating on cloud nine like the cradle of joy he comprises me in. This time it’ll be different. I won’t lose a battle in the warzone called teenage heartbreak. Instead, as of now, I’m strutting through this with confidence with his hand in mine. We’re too young to worry anyways. He is the incentive behind smiling.
005 (short story) Beauty in obsolescence
“Yah boy!” I yell at my steed that hasn’t quite proved himself so noble to me; at least not just yet. Maybe today will be his breakthrough. He’s galloping at mach speed. The wind behind him left dust and harassed the trees. My masculine hands grip the saddle handles. I’m leaned forward, behind in the air. My short, chocolate hair was re-styled in the wind as it blew through. My skin has lost moisture in this cool, dry air. My lips are so chapped, they’re dead. Unspeakable thoughts occupy my mind. What if I’m too late?! My thick eyebrows wrinkle. This is no time to let my eyes water. I have to be the man I was raised to be. (Still galloping) “Hold on my love.” I think to myself. The forest grows darker that the night it already was. The sun has lost all existence and I am swallowed in shadows. It’s almost pitch black except for the half-moon’s reflection on the lake. The clouds cover and hide her as if she was keeping a secret. The lake is motionless. What am I doing? This is no time to lose train of thought. “Yah boy!” I demand. My steed is tired, but I cannot give up. It gallops on. Alas, ahead I the distance I see a tower. It’s old and fragile-looking. A single window sits at the top. My destination stares me in the eyes. Closer and closer. I can smell the lifeless air. Not a bird; not a cloud, not a soul was present, but fear cannot hold me for my love for her is stronger. I will win. Finally, my destination is beseeched. I lower myself until my feet tough the ground. I pat my steed on its head as a sort of reassurance gesture. “I’ll be sure to return” I say. I take one long, last glare at the solemn window at the top, then a deep breath as I walk towards the tower gates. I start slowly, unsure of what awaits me. Then I gain speed, not from confidence, but from fear; fear of what may be lurking inside: Gargantuan beasts with three eyes and claws; medieval dragons; Swarms of black bats; maybe even a cycloptic troll? These thoughts swarmed my imagination transforming my walk into a run. “I’m coming my lady!” I shouted in my mind. I busted through the tower door, only to find nothing but silence and darkness; darkness like the woods I voyaged through to get here; threatening and consuming. However, there was nothing but empty space. I looked around and spotted a staircase. It was almost ancient, wooden, and looked as if one step with my manly boot would impale it. But I paid no mind. I ran up the staircase up to a room. The door was ripped off its rusty hinges. I could feel some sort of liquid as I stepped slowly. Water? Or the blood of my beloved? I turned. My eyes widen at the sight of her body lying on the floor. I ran to her. Her eyes were shut. Her body was motionless, but I prayed it was not lifeless. I kneeled down and touched her face. It was cold, ice cold. Her entire body was like a gravestone. All pigment in her skin was of absence. She was pale. I picked her up, then, and held her close. I embraced her as if to revive her life with body warmth and the love of two beating hearts. But I lay my head upon her chest. Silence. A single tear shed from my eye. It was cold ad it dripped down my cheek and landed on her beautiful, but dead, lips. I then leaned in to kiss her; just one gentle caress of my lips on hers. Failure. Stupid me, this was not a fairytale. No heartbeat. Not a sound; just me and her corpse and the cold, dry, lifeless air. I looked up and around. The night was dark, dark like the night I had rode into, dark like the woods that threatened me, dark like the Kafkaesque scenario I had found her dead body in. I was too late.
Improv writing #4Jessica Thomas [Prosody & word play]4/23/08 Dreamday Several minutes past fallnight I watched her dance within the shadows With cotton pillow lips and cheeks of rose Bound to the world behind her She is the workart of the canvas Singing with a voice of velvet She is disaster’s natural cure Hair golden like shinesun I reach out. For it I long to stoke As if to climb on top of the world But I back down and choke. Flee, flee, I flee. Her beauty is too strong for me. Still dancing like a ballerina The stars like flydragons in this scene I am the obsessed hattermad Gone bashful in this dream
Improv writing #7Jessica Thomas Compare ourselves to an animal we resemble 4/29/08 [Iambic tetrameter] A stalking strut of confidence With eyes that taunt and eyes that charm Her coat is that of fashion sense A work of beauty, she stands out. Protective, fearless, witty, on edge A feisty fight without a doubt Her bite is bigger than her growl Conceited and competitive The world behind her when she prowls Hard outer shell, she loves her friends And loves herself with high esteem She’ll fight and fight until the end With claws that slash at anger’s call She needs no pack, just one to love Paws big and vast; head held up tall She is an art. Life is her frame. Eyes of a tiger describe her. Impulsive but never ashamed
Improv writing #8Jessica Thomas 3 separate poems.5/1/08 (Trochee dimeter) Beach Girls I can see them Walking around Laughing. Flirting. Sounds of laughter I can see them So much like me Red bikini Hair left loose to Capture breezes Soaking up sun Exfoliate Feet in the sand Skin tone so tan Aren’t we all such Silly beach girls Improv #8 (continued)Jessica Thomas 5/1/08 (Dactylic pentameter) Here at our school the kids prancing with pride “Tallwood is good!” they are shouting aloud Lions; our mascot. We prowl very proud Homecoming night; full of exuberance Hype at the Football game; Cheering and all Score set to win. We are standing head tall. Purple and gold, are the colors we bleed. This night is one where we all unify Prep rally, football; it’s all glorified. Next day we dance. We all dress up proper. Some hit the dance floor and some drop a tear. Homecoming night is a great time of year. Human Nature (villanelle) 5/9/08 There sits a panda, black and white In the forest; bamboo chutes of envy green. Coloring the world We pick, like hunters, the rosy red petals
of the hibiscus flower,
and out the window is a panda, black and white.
White ivory of the jungle flower
are pearls of Mother Nature
Coloring the world Steam, graceful but dangerous
can burn the human hands as we make herbal tea
and sitting, watching is the panda, black and white
The hunter, top of the food chain,
poor the ripened red of nature’s blood
Coloring the world
In our world, we wear the skin
our tiger friend, and elephant, they are sponges of our pain
but still, sits a panda, black and white
Coloring the world
Improv writing #3Jessica Thomas [Vivid images of an experience]4/21/08
Mid-December. No snow. No ice. However, winter was at its coldest. The trees were dead. NO leaves. NO color. Just dead. The grass might as well be gray too. Winter has frozen over every bit of green. Cold, harsh, careless winter. In a home, typical American home, two cars, blue shutters, fresh white paint, you’d expect a warm welcome. NO. That’s not what you get this winter. Inside it is just as cold as it was outside except you don’t feel it. You can’t because you no longer feel at all, except the burning sensation of anger eating its way through you. Two people. A couple? No. They can’t even take that title anymore. The arguing and fighting has become routine. He leaves whenever he feels like it now, and when he comes home he just expects an argument. It’s useless now. She’ll stand at the door waiting for him, tears running down eyes as dark as the night, her body sore from pacing in a lonely room. This house is not a home. She hits him with words as if to scar him. She wants to break him so that somehow he could feel the life-threatening pain he gives her. But it doesn’t work. She only hurts herself more. And did she really expect him to just take it? He lashes back with words of furry and upset tones that portray a scream. They argue so much you’d think they loved it. It’s just long enough until violence is no longer a stranger in the house. He punches a wall leaving a big, hollow, empty, black hole behind. Empty like the house that was not a home; hollow like their hearts full of love they didn’t have for each other. Screaming doesn’t even describe the arguing now. The sharp staccato of their voices pierced through walls. She’ll slap him in the face once or twice until he’ll push her back or block every dedicated hit she’d throw at him. Eventually he’ll just leave again. She has too much fight. He doesn’t have enough care. It doesn’t balance. If rage is an enemy, they might as well look into a mirror and fight themselves.
REMINISCE (sonnet)Jessica Thomas 5/19/08 You moved through my soul with strong emotion Such ones of love-like scarlet sensation Pure love like white clouds on a summer’s day Past love, like Romeo and Juliet You were the power in my devotion Lost in a timeless love, our hearts beat fast We were such fools to promise we’d last I can’t live with you, but neither without We sparked a fire we couldn’t control Burned into the future, you are my past
jessicasdigitalporfolio.ppt
ABOUT ME:
my name is Jessica
& i am a writer.
I'd like to say that i have a personal writing style.
I put alot of emotion and my own feelings into all my pieces.
I would like me and my readers to connect as much as possible because I want to create a type of understanding between us.
i really hope people enjoy the things that I write. Some of my writing is sad, emotional, descriptive, or it can be colorful.. but all of it is ME.
I'm just a girl with a voice& i want to be heard.
001
Jessica,
caring, daring, artistic, optimistic
child of a hardworking man and an outspoken mother
fan of creativity, fashion, the things that make life fun
who feels dedicated, poetic and hopeful
who needs love, friendship, and character
who fears abandonment, pain and sorrow
who likes to make friends, shop, and bake
who would like to see success in her life, happiness, and the rest of the world
resident of my imagination,
Thomas
002 BOOTS WERE MADE FOR THE RAIN
She is young. Not the type of young that everyone claims to be. She is in all actuallity, young. The type of youth in which innocence is still pure. She wakes up from her nap, yawning and rubbing her big, vibrant, skyblue eyes. She looks out the window and sees the light grayness of the sky. The rain is lightly falling in a slight drizzle. Birds are hiding away beneath the sturdy branches of the trees, yet they are still singing. SO she smiles and puts on her new, black, rubber rainboots,
003 STILETTOS, A RUNWAY, & A NERVOUS WRECK
Fear was my shadow, haunting me like a ghost in the woods. I was nervous. I looked into the mirror at myself, trying to gather myself. I was a wreck. My hands were trembling, my knees were shaking. What if I tripped onthe runway? This is my first show. I have to pull it together. I took a deep breath & combed my long, dark hair. Although the crowd was loud and distracting, I blocked it out hearing almost nothing but the director calling my name. My mind became an empty space. I was up. So I took yet another deep, invigorating breath and stepped out onto the runway. My stilettos were as black as a moonless night, and with red soles they stalked the runway as I strutted my avant-garde look. Suddenly, the nervousness disappeared and I became fierce; I was proud.
004 Hip-Hop Attraction (personal essay / memoir)
It started in the midst of December. Winter was cold and harsh this year; not just in a literal type of way. Its cold bitterness overwhelmed me and planted frost bite on my heart. I had just got out of a dire breakup.
In a matter of days, fifteen months worth of struggling and fighting to hold onto a belligerent relationship was over. And just when I thought it was also the end of me, I was proven wrong. Life showed me just how clumsy of a lover I really am. (I smirk). I descend so easily into love. It’s like pie... so simple. (And believe me when I say the feeling of a new crush is just as tasteful and delightful as pie too!) We’re so young it’s almost foolish, but I guess in today’s society its okay. I’m glad it is simple, and I’m glad he makes it so easy to be nothing but myself. It’s so effortless to impress him. This “new guy” (I grin with egotism). I can’t help but to feel extraordinary.
When I met him, the first thing I noticed, like I do with all guys, were those beautiful eyes. I thought to myself, laughing, I would definitely have no problem staring into those all day! They were deep gray, and endless like a sea of enchantment, and when he smiled it was like something struck me. His charm was a shock of lightning to my emotions. Then everything fell into place. My feelings lined up as if they were soldiers in a skilled army. Moment by moment he took my breath away with every little thing he did. The way he dresses; the way he walked; even the way he talked; and definitely the way he looked at me.
He’s like a figure out of a 90s hip-hop movie; not the bad boy, but the one every girl wanted to be with; not just because he was cute, but because he had his life planned out. He is smart. He knows what he wants and what he wants to do. I find that incredibly appealing. He’s athletic and very physically alluring. He has a beautiful blanket of brown skin and once again those eyes… (Big smile). He wears his jeans just right; not like a thug with them almost to the point of falling off his body. His swag is on point. The way he carries himself is perfect. He’s a gentleman... with an ego. (I laugh). Sometimes he’ll clean up with a button-down shirt and dress pants looking all professional. Trust me, it’s really cute! But other times he’s laid back and smooth like calm breezes in autumn with his street-style shirt and a fitted. Those boys and their fitted hats; they get to me.
However, he’s not just a boy. He’s that one boy that renders me speechless in every conversation because the way he speaks is like words straight out of a poem book. His words are poetry, poetry that flows through the blood in his veins and leisurely streams from his ever-so-supple lips. He’s smooth with his speech and it’s fascinating. Sometimes I wonder if he’ll ever run out of sweet words to say. He hasn’t proven me wrong yet.
He’s that kind of guy that has eyes that can read me, even when he can’t see me. He can hear it in my voice. It’s almost magical. When he looks at me I melt. Happiness is an endless river flowing through my body when I’m with him. I don’t want this feeling to go away. Young, but this is one of the many highlights of life. I’m not fighting for this. It’s not a struggle. It’s a gentle breeze and I’m floating on cloud nine like the cradle of joy he comprises me in. This time it’ll be different. I won’t lose a battle in the warzone called teenage heartbreak. Instead, as of now, I’m strutting through this with confidence with his hand in mine. We’re too young to worry anyways. He is the incentive behind smiling.
005 (short story)
Beauty in obsolescence
“Yah boy!” I yell at my steed that hasn’t quite proved himself so noble to me; at least not just yet. Maybe today will be his breakthrough. He’s galloping at mach speed. The wind behind him left dust and harassed the trees. My masculine hands grip the saddle handles. I’m leaned forward, behind in the air. My short, chocolate hair was re-styled in the wind as it blew through. My skin has lost moisture in this cool, dry air. My lips are so chapped, they’re dead. Unspeakable thoughts occupy my mind. What if I’m too late?! My thick eyebrows wrinkle. This is no time to let my eyes water. I have to be the man I was raised to be. (Still galloping) “Hold on my love.” I think to myself.
The forest grows darker that the night it already was. The sun has lost all existence and I am swallowed in shadows. It’s almost pitch black except for the half-moon’s reflection on the lake. The clouds cover and hide her as if she was keeping a secret. The lake is motionless. What am I doing? This is no time to lose train of thought. “Yah boy!” I demand. My steed is tired, but I cannot give up. It gallops on.
Alas, ahead I the distance I see a tower. It’s old and fragile-looking. A single window sits at the top. My destination stares me in the eyes. Closer and closer. I can smell the lifeless air. Not a bird; not a cloud, not a soul was present, but fear cannot hold me for my love for her is stronger. I will win.
Finally, my destination is beseeched. I lower myself until my feet tough the ground. I pat my steed on its head as a sort of reassurance gesture. “I’ll be sure to return” I say. I take one long, last glare at the solemn window at the top, then a deep breath as I walk towards the tower gates. I start slowly, unsure of what awaits me. Then I gain speed, not from confidence, but from fear; fear of what may be lurking inside: Gargantuan beasts with three eyes and claws; medieval dragons; Swarms of black bats; maybe even a cycloptic troll? These thoughts swarmed my imagination transforming my walk into a run. “I’m coming my lady!” I shouted in my mind. I busted through the tower door, only to find nothing but silence and darkness; darkness like the woods I voyaged through to get here; threatening and consuming. However, there was nothing but empty space. I looked around and spotted a staircase. It was almost ancient, wooden, and looked as if one step with my manly boot would impale it. But I paid no mind. I ran up the staircase up to a room. The door was ripped off its rusty hinges. I could feel some sort of liquid as I stepped slowly. Water? Or the blood of my beloved? I turned. My eyes widen at the sight of her body lying on the floor. I ran to her. Her eyes were shut. Her body was motionless, but I prayed it was not lifeless. I kneeled down and touched her face. It was cold, ice cold. Her entire body was like a gravestone. All pigment in her skin was of absence. She was pale. I picked her up, then, and held her close. I embraced her as if to revive her life with body warmth and the love of two beating hearts. But I lay my head upon her chest. Silence. A single tear shed from my eye. It was cold ad it dripped down my cheek and landed on her beautiful, but dead, lips. I then leaned in to kiss her; just one gentle caress of my lips on hers. Failure. Stupid me, this was not a fairytale. No heartbeat. Not a sound; just me and her corpse and the cold, dry, lifeless air. I looked up and around. The night was dark, dark like the night I had rode into, dark like the woods that threatened me, dark like the Kafkaesque scenario I had found her dead body in. I was too late.
Improv writing #4 Jessica Thomas
[Prosody & word play] 4/23/08
Dreamday
Several minutes past fallnight
I watched her dance within the shadows
With cotton pillow lips and cheeks of rose
Bound to the world behind her
She is the workart of the canvas
Singing with a voice of velvet
She is disaster’s natural cure
Hair golden like shinesun
I reach out. For it I long to stoke
As if to climb on top of the world
But I back down and choke.
Flee, flee, I flee.
Her beauty is too strong for me.
Still dancing like a ballerina
The stars like flydragons in this scene
I am the obsessed hattermad
Gone bashful in this dream
Improv writing #7 Jessica Thomas
Compare ourselves to an animal we resemble 4/29/08
[Iambic tetrameter]
A stalking strut of confidence
With eyes that taunt and eyes that charm
Her coat is that of fashion sense
A work of beauty, she stands out.
Protective, fearless, witty, on edge
A feisty fight without a doubt
Her bite is bigger than her growl
Conceited and competitive
The world behind her when she prowls
Hard outer shell, she loves her friends
And loves herself with high esteem
She’ll fight and fight until the end
With claws that slash at anger’s call
She needs no pack, just one to love
Paws big and vast; head held up tall
She is an art. Life is her frame.
Eyes of a tiger describe her.
Impulsive but never ashamed
Improv writing #8 Jessica Thomas
3 separate poems. 5/1/08
(Trochee dimeter)
Beach Girls
I can see them
Walking around
Laughing. Flirting.
Sounds of laughter
I can see them
So much like me
Red bikini
Hair left loose to
Capture breezes
Soaking up sun
Exfoliate
Feet in the sand
Skin tone so tan
Aren’t we all such
Silly beach girls
Improv #8 (continued) Jessica Thomas
5/1/08
(Dactylic pentameter)
Here at our school the kids prancing with pride
“Tallwood is good!” they are shouting aloud
Lions; our mascot. We prowl very proud
Homecoming night; full of exuberance
Hype at the Football game; Cheering and all
Score set to win. We are standing head tall.
Purple and gold, are the colors we bleed.
This night is one where we all unify
Prep rally, football; it’s all glorified.
Next day we dance. We all dress up proper.
Some hit the dance floor and some drop a tear.
Homecoming night is a great time of year.
Human Nature
(villanelle) 5/9/08
There sits a panda, black and white
In the forest; bamboo chutes of envy green.
Coloring the world
We pick, like hunters, the rosy red petals
of the hibiscus flower,
and out the window is a panda, black and white.
White ivory of the jungle flower
are pearls of Mother Nature
Coloring the world
Steam, graceful but dangerous
can burn the human hands as we make herbal tea
and sitting, watching is the panda, black and white
The hunter, top of the food chain,
poor the ripened red of nature’s blood
Coloring the world
In our world, we wear the skin
our tiger friend, and elephant, they are sponges of our pain
but still, sits a panda, black and white
Coloring the world
Improv writing #3 Jessica Thomas
[Vivid images of an experience] 4/21/08
Mid-December. No snow. No ice. However, winter was at its coldest. The trees were dead. NO leaves. NO color. Just dead. The grass might as well be gray too. Winter has frozen over every bit of green. Cold, harsh, careless winter. In a home, typical American home, two cars, blue shutters, fresh white paint, you’d expect a warm welcome. NO. That’s not what you get this winter. Inside it is just as cold as it was outside except you don’t feel it. You can’t because you no longer feel at all, except the burning sensation of anger eating its way through you. Two people. A couple? No. They can’t even take that title anymore. The arguing and fighting has become routine. He leaves whenever he feels like it now, and when he comes home he just expects an argument. It’s useless now. She’ll stand at the door waiting for him, tears running down eyes as dark as the night, her body sore from pacing in a lonely room. This house is not a home. She hits him with words as if to scar him. She wants to break him so that somehow he could feel the life-threatening pain he gives her. But it doesn’t work. She only hurts herself more. And did she really expect him to just take it? He lashes back with words of furry and upset tones that portray a scream. They argue so much you’d think they loved it. It’s just long enough until violence is no longer a stranger in the house. He punches a wall leaving a big, hollow, empty, black hole behind. Empty like the house that was not a home; hollow like their hearts full of love they didn’t have for each other. Screaming doesn’t even describe the arguing now. The sharp staccato of their voices pierced through walls. She’ll slap him in the face once or twice until he’ll push her back or block every dedicated hit she’d throw at him. Eventually he’ll just leave again. She has too much fight. He doesn’t have enough care. It doesn’t balance. If rage is an enemy, they might as well look into a mirror and fight themselves.
REMINISCE (sonnet) Jessica Thomas
5/19/08
You moved through my soul with strong emotion
Such ones of love-like scarlet sensation
Pure love like white clouds on a summer’s day
Past love, like Romeo and Juliet
You were the power in my devotion
Lost in a timeless love, our hearts beat fast
We were such fools to promise we’d last
I can’t live with you, but neither without
We sparked a fire we couldn’t control
Burned into the future, you are my past